


Ambuscade

by AkiraMokona



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:39:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiraMokona/pseuds/AkiraMokona
Summary: The waters have gone still. A new era has begun. But you know better. You know that something is beneath the water’s surface.It’s just biding its time. Lying in wait. Even as you lean over to peer into the depths, it remains shrouded.But it sees you. And it watches.Waiting.Daemon Spade x Reader
Relationships: Daemon Spade/Reader, Daemon Spade/You
Kudos: 4





	Ambuscade

The Vongola had been reduced to ashes. Giotto and all of the others were gone. Their names, if ever spoken, were done so in a whisper. A hushed tone with cautious eyes directed outside of the group. It seemed to be a taboo subject. It always was, when a family was brought to its knees, its mouth dripping blood and nails broken from struggling, clinging to what it had. It had been a simple decision for some. For others, they had tried to hold out, holding onto the faith they had in their boss. There was always a rumour circling that there had to be some sort of sign of the end times and this was it. This event had to have resulted to the Vongola’s demise. That tale, along with the other Guardians, faded into the smoke as time passed. Those of lower rank, if they had managed to survive, scattered. The sputtering of the very last embers.

And yet, there was another. It had been burning low. Only a crackle or two gave itself away. When the main fire went out, it remained. It continued toward the centre of the hearth. Everything it touched was reignited, burning with an unrivaled intensity. Anyone that had hoped to douse the flame failed. It burned, gaining strength, until it roared like some beast at the top of the food chain. The Vongola, on the edge of going out, had been remade.

Your gaze strayed to the man who carried that flame. Ricardo. Related by blood to Giotto, though nothing in his body showed it. He sat on what some of the party-goers called his throne. It was ornate enough to be considered one. Dark hair rather than blond. Tanned skin rather than pale. His eyes were dark as he watched. His face betrayed nothing, if only disinterest. But you knew better than to think that. Even as he gulped down the rest of what was his fifth glass of some amber coloured liquor, he was as vigilant as ever. He was a beast. The leader of the pack. He lounged in his chair as if he was relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp. Anyone that tried to take his place at the top would be thrown down into some deep, dark pit. Their skin would be charred by his anger. His wrath. No, he was nothing like Giotto. Ricardo was the fire behind the Vongola’s survival. He was the roaring flame.

And that fire still burned behind his eyes. It dared anyone who felt brave enough to approach him. He had no patience for formalities. Even the party was a hindrance to him. A necessary evil. Other families and wealthy individuals who knew of the criminal underworld enjoyed this sort of thing. He would allow them their trivial vices, so long as his drink of choice was being poured for him in regular intervals. Sure enough, a servant was already at his side, another decanter at the ready.

Despite his attitude toward such gatherings, the ballroom and the gallery above were almost full. Attendees were grouped into clusters. Some talked trade, others gossiped. Only a few managed to flit between groups. It was clear who was involved through only money and who had staked their life on this new Vongola. Under Ricardo’s watchful eye, this party to celebrate the rebirth of the Vongola was going well. Every extravagance had been paid for in full. It was easy to see the power and influence Ricardo carried. He would do well in such a role, even if he didn’t like the galas himself.

Admittedly, you weren’t one for parties, either. You turned back to the group you had been standing with, their voices once again in your focus. You hadn’t caught a word of their conversation since the first man had approached you with his wife, eventually festering into several people. You had been too busy watching Ricardo. A few seconds clued you in to the fact they were talking about tutors for their respective children. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. So, you had accidentally gotten into a conversation with a group of sponsors.

Then again, you supposed that it was hard for people like them to tell if a person was merely slipping money under the table or staining their hands with blood for the Vongola. You were deceiving, in your violet dress so dark that it was almost black. You looked like any of the other women, albeit they wore brighter colours. You doubted that most of them would believe you if you told them who you were. They would probably laugh in that annoying, painfully transparent tone. A joke they pretended not to share with you.

You hadn’t always hated parties. When you were younger, you actually found them to be quite thrilling. Then again, it might have been because you were weaving between guests with a stiletto knife, searching for a particular person with the intent of giving them a rather unwelcome gift between their ribs. You found yourself missing those years from so long ago, when you were still floating between factions and their families. Now, you hated the noise. It was lopsided, overwhelming your left side. In the quiet of your home, you didn’t notice it. In such a loud place filled with so much talking, you were reminded of what you had lost. It had been years, but your chest still burned with rage. With regret.

There had been an accident, though a part of you knew that it could have been avoided. You had escaped with your life, but not without consequences. The blood had been dried and wiped away. You hadn’t even realized what had happened until several days later when you left your apartment in search of something to drown your sorrow and anger with. You had almost stopped in the middle of the street, the idea cold as it seeped into your bones. All sound on your right side was gone. You had lost all hearing in that ear.

Of course, you were too stubborn to let your career face ruin. You became more careful. You compensated. Adapting. No one knew the difference. Even those you had known for years saw nothing. They only saw you continuing on your path. There was no visible hesitation, no second thought. No one could tell that you were at a disadvantage in battle. And you preferred it that way. The less they knew, the better.

Even Ricardo didn’t know. You had known him before his rise to Vongola boss. You had both been assassins at the time, a mutual respect between you. It was that respect for you and your craft that had given you such a position within the family. You couldn’t tell him, not when it would jeopardize everything you valued in your life. What would you be, if you couldn’t feel the warm blood dripping from a knife or the kickback of a rifle? What would you be, if you weren’t an assassin?

You pushed those thoughts from your mind. You accepted a flute of champagne from a passing servant and downed it while the group you were with all laughed at some joke at the expense of a man that wasn’t even there. The glass was quickly placed onto another tray like it had never happened. You looked out at the rest of the crowd. Maybe there was another group somewhere that wasn’t completely insufferable. Of course, you were also looking for someone else. From what you could tell, he hadn’t arrived yet. Fashionably late. What an awful first impression.

Footsteps came from behind you, almost silent but not quite. You didn’t flinch as a hand met your back. The group you were standing with all paled. They stared with wide eyes, some of them trying to offer words of praise. In a matter of seconds, they were all scurrying away like rats.

You turned to your left, knowing exactly who it was that had come up behind you. You couldn’t help but grin teasingly, “Secondo.”

His eyes, greener now that he was close, narrowed. The hand on your back nudged you forward a bit as if in warning.

You held back your snicker. Although it was his official title, Ricardo was far too proud to let others refer to him as the second Vongola boss. As far as he was concerned, he was the boss, nothing less. You relented, “Ricardo.”

“_____,” he replied in his low, almost growling voice.

“Bored?” you asked. You had known him long enough to tell that he was. His impatience also meant that he was prone to wandering when he didn’t have something to entertain him, whether that was the murder of a rival or a young woman batting her eyelashes and touching his thigh.

He hummed in response. He wasn’t much for talking. Then again, neither were you. With him standing so close to you, you doubted that anyone would approach. That solitude was exactly what he wanted. There were very few things he hated more than being bothered over something trivial.

Your expression shifted. You had been meaning to talk to him. The current peace that the new Vongola was resting on couldn’t be mistaken for solid steel. You knew that it could easily become sand, sinking away and letting the foundation crumble into dust once more. At that moment, the Vongola was in its most precarious stage. Until Ricardo had completely solidified himself as the next Vongola boss with no rival families trying to douse the renewed flame, you were cautious. But an outside force wasn’t your concern. No, it was someone on the inside that worried you. It was the perfect place to hide, to wait until no one suspected anything and had their backs turned. You wouldn’t give them the chance.

You had meant to bring this up to Ricardo. The only problem was that you had nothing to support your claim. It was only a gut feeling that this peace wouldn’t last, or it was under the guise of something else brewing and becoming more powerful. That was what complicated things. Ricardo wouldn’t care if you felt like something was going to happen. You needed evidence. He was already careful, already vigilant. Nothing would change if you told him. If anything, he trusted you enough to deal with such a matter on your own. He would leave you to stamp out any sort of rebellion beneath your heel before he even caught word of it.

And so, you avoided the subject, “It seems like you’re missing a Guardian.”

He scoffed. With a tilt of his head, his long, thin ponytail fell from his shoulder, “If he shows up late to the meeting, he’ll be dealt with.”

You knew that Ricardo meant it. As a boss, he didn’t tolerate waiting for anyone else. Everyone was expected to wait for him and follow his orders down to the letter. He wouldn’t accept anything less. You glanced to the other people chatting and drinking. You had seen glimpses of the people handpicked by Ricardo become his Guardians. Rain, Storm, Lightning, Sun. They were all waiting for the meeting that would follow the party. Some of them seemed amused by the event. Others looked they would rather be anywhere else.

You, clad in a dark dress and carrying the title of Cloud Guardian, made the total five.

That left only one unaccounted for; Mist.

“Ah, I’ve been looking for you, Sir.”

Your attention shifted to the woman standing before you and Ricardo. She smiled brightly, though you could tell that her warmth was directed more towards your companion.

She stepped between you, taking Ricardo’s arm, “I was hoping we could talk for a bit.”

Ricardo’s glare snapped to you. A silent demand for you to get this woman off of him.

You glanced away, barely hiding your smirk as you curtsied, “Sir.”

His gaze darkened as it followed you, burning into your back as you left in search of another silver tray filled with glasses brimming with sparkling alcohol. You figured that he would be able to handle himself. There were only two options for women that approached him in such a manner. Most were brushed off, his disinterest eventually forcing them to leave. Those who sparked something within him would slip from his room with ruffled hair and their clothes almost torn. No woman was ever allowed to stay the night. You had mused once or twice what would become of you if you ever tried the same thing. You never acted upon it. It was more out of curiosity than anything else. Ricardo used to be a fellow assassin. Now, he was your boss. Even if you didn’t care about professionalism, assassins were a breed of their own. Anything that threatened the distance an assassin kept from the rest of the world was something that could be exploited. You had no room for another weakness.

With a practiced, seamless stride, you slipped into another circle. It was a group of men. They spoke in low voices. As the man to your right turned to spare you a glance, you noticed scarring on his neck. You returned his gaze. Only a brief nod was needed to grant you an extended stay within the group. They had all bloodied their hands. They had stained their skin countless times in the name of their families and their own reputations. You hadn’t shied away from their cautious looks. You weren’t about to swoon over their current topic of conversation. If anything, you had a fair bit of experience when it came to having a man cough his blood into your face in a pained gasp. You hadn’t flinched at such a thing in years.

You stayed quiet. You were thankful for such a conversation. It was better than listening to the droning of some old man who thought that the only way to do things was the old way, or the chattering of wealthy women admiring Ricardo’s attire. For now, you were happy to listen. It wouldn’t hurt to learn a thing or two.

All at once, the hair on the back of your neck stood up. Someone was staring at you. The weight of their gaze was obvious to someone with your training and your profession. You turned, looking over your shoulder.

He was standing across the room. He was nearly shrouded by the other people he was standing with; a mix of men and women dressed so elegantly that they had to be some of the richest guests in the room. At the very least, they were the most forward about their wealth. Even he was dressed quite nicely.

And yet, even in the presence of such a crowd, he continued to stare at you. His eyes narrowed. He lifted his champagne flute. An acknowledgement. You were both aware of each other now. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk just before the glass met his lips.

Your own lips curled into a similar expression. You recognized him. The intelligence you had gathered on him had proven to be almost scarily accurate. Hair that followed the line of his jaw. Golden epaulets and a dark jacket; his favoured attire. He looked every bit like the commander of some grand revolution. And those eyes, glinting with amusement. A secret that he only he knew.

Daemon Spade. Mist Guardian to Giotto and now Ricardo.

And, based on your suspicions, a snake within the garden. The man that would attempt to extinguish the Vongola once and for all.

Yes, he was the one you had been waiting for.


End file.
